Out of Trouble
by everwriting
Summary: Gilbert's not there when Matthew gets home, but it's pretty obvious what happened. Follow Matt as he goes to get his partner or 27 years back and the trouble he finds along the way.


Matthew Williams walked into the hanger of the Royal Canadian Air Force base in Whitehorse, going straight to his favorite plane. He began to silently go through the preflight checklist and mapping out a route to Anadyr, Russia. One of the pilots saw the nation and stepped over.

"Is there anything I can do to help you, Canada, sir?"

Matthew looked up, the ice in his gaze chilling the poor airman to the bone.

"Please contact Alfred Jones in the United States and have him get a hold of me as soon as possible."

The pilot nodded and scurried away, leaving the Canadian avatar to finish preparations. Matthew's brain barely registered the meticulous preparations or the takeoff, only really registering when he heard his brother's voice in his ear piece.

"Yo, bro! What's going on?"

Normally, his twin's laughing voice would either make Matthew smile his amusement or sigh in frustration, but he felt nothing now and spoke calmly to Alfred.

"Russia is having one of his episodes and took Gilbert. I'm going to get him back."

Alfred was quiet for a moment and when he spoke again his voice was serious.

"What kind of episode?"

"A bad one. Gil tried to fight and the battle left plenty of blood behind."

Matthew tuned out Alfred's response, his mind going cold again while he flew toward Russia.

* * *

The air strip for the compound just north of Anadyr was poorly lit, but this was nothing the Canadian hadn't experienced flying through his own northern reaches. Matthew landed the plane expertly, taxiing toward the compound to avoid blocking the runway as well as setting the plane up to take off again.

A short man dressed in heavy winter clothes rushed up to meet the Canadian. Ravis waited until Matthew stepped out of the plane and started walking toward the compound.

"Sir, Russia told me to tell you that he wants to meet you in Moscow. That you're not supposed to …"

Ravis trailed off when he saw the expression on Matthew's face. The icy stare was even more terrifying to the Baltic nation than Ivan in his current mood. Ravis simply jogged along behind the Canadian's march toward the house.

The compound was modestly sized, not nearly big enough to effectively hide a prisoner from a determined nation. Matthew began to systematically open doors, quickly examining each room before moving on to the next, until Ravis spoke up.

"They're not in the compound. Russia took him a few kilometers north of here. I'll get you a map and a snow mobile."

Matthew said nothing to Ravis, only followed him to the garage and mounting the sled. The machine roared out of the compound, heading north into the perpetual night of a Russian winter. Ravis watched, his perpetual shivering getting worse as he watched the Canadian blast into the darkness.

* * *

Ivan Braginski stood at the base of a small hill just north of the Arctic Circle, looking even further north into the dark dawn. Behind him, kneeling in the snow on top of the hill, was Gilbert Beilschmidt. The Prussian's arms were pulled straight back from his shoulders to where his wrists were bound to a pole, the only thing keeping him from slumping forward over his knees and into the snow. The pain this put on his arms was a dull ache that harmonized nicely with the more intense and stabbing pain in his face and torso. He concentrated on pulling air into his lungs and ignoring the pain that this simple act sent blossoming in his chest.

The crunching of boots in the snow was a welcomed distraction from the pain in his body, but it send the pain in his mind and heart flaring up again. The hulking Russian crouched down in front of Gilbert and very gently lifted his captive's head so their eyes could meet.

"Why? Matvy will become one with Russia, _da_? You should never have stolen him from me."

Gilbert sneered up at the Russian, leaning a bit to the side to spit out a mouth full of blood.

"You are one sick bastard, Ivan. Matthew will never be 'one' with Mother Russia. He'll never-"

The rest of the sentence was cut off by a massive fist slamming into his gut. The blows were nearly continuous for a small eternity, leaving a ringing, burning pain in Gilbert's entire body. He forced his mind to focus on just his breathing, suppressing both his desire to taunt the Russian and thoughts of Matthew. Thinking about his Birdie would not be helpful at this moment. He'd made it through Ivan's torture once, as unawesome as it had been, but thoughts of Birdie would make this current torture unbearable. So, instead, he focused on breathing and the sounds around him – Russia's heavy breathing, the dripping of blood from his mouth into the small puddle of it that had formed in front of him, the wind blowing over the dark, icy landscape.

The roar of an engine intruded on his thoughts, as did the Russian's soft gasp and whispered word. "Matvy."

Gilbert's head snapped up, trying to see what had prompted Ivan's soft exclamation, but the pain blasted through his head and a sea of stars burst in front of his eyes. He bowed his head again and concentrated on breathing slowly and steadily, as well as keeping his head from exploding.

The engine roar was cut off abruptly. Gilbert strained to hear anything more, but only heard Ivan walking away from him down the hill, his boots crunching in the snow. It took long moments of deep breathing before Gilbert could slowly lift his head to look down the hill.

It was a blond curl of hair sticking out from a red and white helmet that caught Gilbert's attention. He focused on that curl, waiting for his mind to drift away from the pain enough that he could look at his partner's face. He tried to read Matthew's expression, but he was too far away, his vision swimming with stars and cartoon images of Gilbird, and Ivan stepped in the way. The two northern nations stood a few feet apart and Gilbert could see Ivan's body relaxing, leaning forward toward Matthew. The angle made it so he couldn't see exactly what the Russian did or said, but Matthew's body stiffened for a moment before his fist plowed into Ivan's face. The action startled both other nations so much that Ivan fell to the ground and Gilbert passed out from jerking against the ropes.

* * *

Matthew felt the glacier in his heart chill even more when he came upon the hill Ravis had directed him to. He ended up approaching from the west, seeing both Ivan and Gilbert in hazy profile against the dark sky. Ivan had set up a few lights around the hill, but it wasn't enough for Matthew to accurately judge how injured his boyfriend was. The snowmobile hadn't come to a complete stop before he had jumped off. Ivan noticed him and started down the hill, but Matthew only paid him a cursory amount of attention. Gilbert had moved jerkily for a moment, but was deathly still now. He wanted to march up the hill and cut Gilbert down, but Ivan had gotten within a few meters, a smile curving his mouth.

"Matvy."

Matthew turned most of his attention to Ivan now, looking into his face and trying to decide exactly how the Russian had gone crazy this time. The sunny smile made Matthew think of a child, but the blood spattered coat made that expression chilling. When Ivan leaned forward and attempted to kiss Matthew, he jerked back and plowed his fist into Ivan's face, knocking the big Russian on his ass.

_That might not have been the smartest idea._

Ivan stared up at Matthew, one hand resting on his jaw and a wounded expression on his face.

"What was that for, Matvy?"

Matthew had to ignore him, fighting down the urge to lay into him again. He stepped around Ivan and started up the hill to where Gilbert had listed to the side, obviously unconscious. Ivan lifted himself to his feet and stepped after Matthew, reaching out to grab the Canadian's arm.

"Matvy, why are you here?"

Matthew turned back to Ivan, trying to control the sudden hot rage overtaking the glacier in his chest.

"Why do you think I'm here, Russia? I'm here to get Gilbert."

Ivan's face shifted expression from confused and hurt to angry.

"What do you want with him? You are the Great White North. You are just like Russia. He is no good for you."

"And I suppose you are?"

"_Da_."

The simple answer and short nod snapped something inside Matthew. His fists flew before he was aware he'd decided to punch Ivan, knocking the Russian back to the ground. The pain in his fists was nothing, nor were the struggles of his victim.

Matthew's fists flew hard and fast until strong arms wrapped around his waist and hauled him back.

"Matt, hey, bro. I think he's done."

Alfred swung his brother around so he was facing Gilbert instead of Ivan. Matthew's heart stuttered and he nearly fell when Alfred let go of him. Managing to lock his knees before face planting into the snow, he walked up the hill and knelt in front of his partner.

It took only a few motions of his knife to cut Gilbert's wrists free. The Prussian slumped into Matthew's arms, his breath ruffling the collar of the Canadian's flight jacket. Matthew very gently shifted Gil in his arms so he could examine the albino's face.

The damage Ivan had inflicted was already beginning to heal, his status as a nation, albeit a dissolved nation, accelerating the healing. Matthew very gently lay Gilbert on the ground to inspect the rest of the injuries, straightening a broken leg to prevent it from healing crookedly. None of this caused more than a twitch from the Prussian, sending worry skittering around Matthew's heart. Alfred stepped up behind his twin and very gently put a hand on his shoulder.

"There's a US Navy aircraft carrier just off the coast. A helicopter will be here in twenty minutes. Someone will get your plane home for you."

After several moments of deep breathing to control the tears that wanted to fall, Matthew was able to look up at his brother.

"Thank you, Alfred."

"What are heroes, and brothers, for? Besides, how else could we get him out of here?"

Matthew had to laugh just a bit at Alfred's trademark brand of craziness. He sat in the snow to watch Gilbert just breathe. The sound of a helicopter startled him. He glanced up and watched Alfred signal the pilot to land at the bottom of the hill before turning back to Gilbert. He gently brushed snow white hair from his forehead, bending down to speak sternly to his lover.

"You stay alive, understand, _Preußen_?"

The Navy corpsmen stepped up to Matthew and very gently nudged him aside so they could put Gilbert on a stretcher and take him to the waiting helicopter.

* * *

The _USS George Washington_ swayed gently as it returned to its home port in Japan, making Matthew brace his foot against the bed Gilbert was laying in. A Navy doctor had put a brace on Gilbert's broken leg and bandaged any wounds that were still bleeding, but he was otherwise left to heal on his own. Despite knowing that it was the only thing that could be done for any nation, Matthew felt utterly helpless. The icy rage had long thawed, leaving him with strung out nerves and a sour stomach.

Alfred knocked gently on the wall near his brother, holding two cups of coffee in one hand. Matthew jumped a bit before glaring at his brother without any real anger behind it. Alfred offered up a Canadian flag mug that steamed gently. Matthew accepted gladly and sipped, grimacing at the bitter taste. Alfred silently pulled out a small bottle of maple syrup from the pocket of his jacket which made Matthew smile as he accepted and poured half the contents of into his mug.

"How are you holding up?"

Matthew took another sip of his now much sweeter coffee, looking back to Gilbert's still form.

"How do you think I'm holding up? Intellectually, I know he'll be fine. He's survived worse over the centuries, but it still terrifies me to see him looking like this."

Alfred didn't say anything, his mind unwillingly turning to what he would do if it had been one of his loved ones on that hill in Russia. He gripped the mug he held tightly, shaking a little, and the ceramic US flag shattered in his hand. Matthew jumped, looking up to where his twin was picking at the large shard that had sliced open his palm. The Canadian sighed and stood, reaching for the gauze left on a counter.

"Idiot."

Alfred tried to tug away from his twin, but Matthew succeeded in getting the wound washed out and had begun to bandage it when he spoke.

"Stop fighting, Al. Let me do this."

"I don't need-"

"I do. I need to do this. Let me do this."

Alfred looked down at his brother's blond hair, Matthew's head bent over his task, keeping the gauze even and at the proper tension around his hand. Alfred stayed still, but tense while his brother worked. Once he was done, Matthew sat back down to stare at Gilbert.

* * *

Alfred sighed and walked out of the room, leaving his brother to his lonely vigil. He walked aimlessly through the ship. The sound of 'God Save the Queen' blasting out of his pocket made him jump almost a foot inyo the air before he snapped out his phone.

"Hey, Artie."

"How is your brother doing?"

It was a sign of just how worried the Briton was when he didn't protest at the pet name. Alfred sighed, turning to lean his back against a bulkhead and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"He's … holding in there."

"And you, darling?"

Alfred looked down at his hand, rubbing his thumb over the bandage for a long moment before answering.

"Holding in there. I … I love you, you know that, right?"

"Of course, Alfred. And I love you as well. Are you really okay?"

Alfred's breath shuddered as he suppressed his emotions, but Arthur could hear that breath.

"Do you need me to come and be with you, Meri?"

"No, not yet. I'll be okay until I get home."

The British man began muttering under his breath, making Alfred chuckle a bit.

"Artie, I'll be okay. I promise."

"I'll hold you to it. Are you with Matthew?"

"No. I just checked up on him, though."

The silence stretched out uncomfortably until Arthur cursed again.

"What's wrong, Meri? You're only this quiet when you're upset."

Alfred laughed again, but this time it was forced, strained.

"Can we talk about this later? I'm not sure I'm really up for this conversation."

Arthur sighed, trying to put all of his worry into that sound.

"I won't let you weasel out of this, Alfred. You're going to tell me what's got you so upset, and sooner rather than later, understand?"

"Yes, Sir!" Alfred saluted, even though his lover couldn't see him. Arthur knew the gesture was there, regardless.

"Cheeky git. Now go check on your brother again."

Alfred hung up, laughing a little. He turned and, after a quick look around to figure out where he'd wandered to, headed back to the infirmary.

* * *

Matthew knew his twin had left the room, but didn't bother looking up. He began counting Gilbert's breaths, taking some small comfort in the fact that his chest continued to rise and fall steadily, without any obvious pain to the unconscious man. He reached out and took Gilbert's pale hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over the palm before twining their fingers together.

"Please, Gil, wake up. Please."

Matt stopped speaking after that, not wanting to break down and cry. He got to three hundred and twenty four breaths before Alfred stepped back into the room. Neither nation said anything while Alfred took up a seat near his brother. The silence wasn't strained, wasn't uncomfortable. Matthew eventually stopped counting when he reached one thousand breaths, his eyes drooping and head starting to sag.

Alfred's hand on his shoulder made him jump slightly.

"You're about to fall out of that chair, Matt. You need to sleep."

"Not leaving him."

"Never said you should. There's an empty bunk right next to him. Sleep there. But sleep."

Matthew opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by a yawn. Grousing under his breath, Alfred started to pull his twin up and toward the empty bed. Matthew protested weakly, but allowed his brother to gently shove him onto the thin mattress. He didn't say anything when his shoes were roughly pulled off, his glasses plucked off his nose or a blanket tossed over his body. Alfred plopped back down in Matthew's abandoned chair, stretching out his long legs to settle in.

"I'll wake you up if anything changes, Matt. I promise."

Matthew barely managed to get out a thank you for his brother before a huge yawn worked its way out of him and he drifted off.

* * *

Gilbert felt consciousness return slowly, like trying to swim upwards through thick muck. He tried taking a deep breath, surprised at how little it hurt. The pain did come screaming back to life when he tried to move his arms.

The groan woke Alfred out of a light doze. He jerked up, glancing first at his brother, who was sleeping soundly, and then at Gilbert. He shifted and very gently put a hand on Gilbert's bandaged shoulder.

"Easy there, dude. No need to hurt yourself."

Gilbert took several more deep breaths and opened his eyes a little, squinting up at the man next to him. He thought it was Matthew standing there, but the hair was too short and the glasses were too square to be his lover.

"Alfred? The fuck is going on?"

Alfred didn't answer the soft question, already turning to the other bed.

"Hey, Matt. Wake up."

Matthew blinked a little, then jerked upright. He didn't even look at his brother, turning instead to his partner, jamming his glasses on. Gilbert blinked, trying to clear his eyes of the grit sleep had left there. Soft fingers gently wiped at his eyes so he could see more clearly.

"Birdie."

It was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. Matthew's eyes filled with tears, his hand shaking now as it brushed over Gilbert's cheek.

"Why're you crying? You're too awesome to cry."

Matthew laughed, pulling up his chair so he could be as close to his partner as he could get without climbing into the tiny bed next to him.

"Relieved, I guess. You had me worried out of my mind, you hoser."

Gilbert chuckled as well, turning his head a little to see Matthew more clearly. Matthew rested his chin on the rail alongside the bed, just looking at Gilbert. Gilbert tried to move to lift his arm and brush his fingers over Matthew's cheek. Instead, he gasped at the stabbing pain in his shoulder, gritting his teeth in an attempt to keep back a cry. Matthew jumped, his eyes wide with fright.

"Gil? What's wrong?"

"Arms hurt. Russian bastard."

A corpsman, whom Alfred had summoned, stepped up to Gilbert and started to poke, prod, and ask, what were in Gilbert's opinion, useless questions.

"I want to give you some local analgesic in your shoulders, which should make the trip to a proper hospital more comfortable."

Gilbert started to shake his head, gritting his teeth, but Matthew's worried expression changed his mind and nodded. He didn't feel the needle slide into the muscles around his shoulders, but the pain began to fade immediately. He groaned, rolling his shoulders a little at the doctor's suggestion.

"Thanks. You going to tell me what happened? Where we are?"

Matthew's voice was soft, halting a few times to swallow down both rage and fear, as he described the past day from his own point of view; from coming home to find their house a wreck, flying to Russia, confronting Ivan and bringing Gilbert to the _Washington_.

"You beat him up? Damn, now I wish I hadn't passed out. That must have been awesome."

Matthew pursed his lips, looking away.

"I was out of control. I don't know how long it would have been until I stopped if Alfred hadn't pulled me off. And don't go on about him being a bastard and deserving it, I'm not arguing that point. It's the being out of control like that, it worries me."

Gilbert reached up again to touch Matthew's face. The Canadian covered his lover's hand with his own and held it to his cheek while he closed his eyes. Gilbert smirked a little and lifted his other hand to tweak Matthew's nose.

"What are you doing, hoser?"

"You're being cute, and your nose needed that. And the idea of you being out of control to the point of being dangerous or worrying, it's just not something I can imagine. I remember you at Juno Beach, the Battle of the Scheldt, and Vimy. When you're fighting, you can be a terrifying thing to see on the other side of a battle field."

Matthew looked away, his expression not soothed in any way.

"That was war. Ivan wasn't an enemy on a battlefield, he was a maniac who attacked the man I love, my family. I wanted to end him, wipe him off the face of the Earth."

Gilbert sighed, tugging Matthew's face back around so he could meet the Canadian's violet eyes. It took some coaxing, but their eyes finally met.

"Birdie, stop. You're too good for that. You have to trust yourself, at least enough to not completely obliterate certain Russians, even if nothing the awesome me says is getting through that thick skull of yours."

Matthew had to chuckle, bending down to kiss Gilbert very gently.

"I'm listening to everything you're saying. I just don't buy it right now."

Gilbert laughed a bit, tugging Matthew's head back down for another few kisses. Gilbert felt his chest start to tighten, but he thought it was just some sort of mushy emotional reaction to having his Birdie back. When Matthew pulled back and put his hand on Gilbert's chest with worry etched on his face again, the Prussian frowned. He tried to speak, but couldn't get in enough air, wheezing while he tried. The world, both sight and sound, started to dim. He tried to fight the slide, but he just couldn't get enough air into his lungs.

* * *

"Al! He's not breathing right! Al!"

A corpsman rushed over and nudged Matthew away from the bed. Matthew was reluctant to step aside, but his twin pulled him over to the opposite wall. The Canadian tried to listen to the words the doctors seemed to throw at each other, but his mind wouldn't let him focus on anything except his boyfriend. When one of the corpsmen yanked the curtain surrounding Gilbert's bed closed, Matthew nearly screamed in frustration. Alfred took his arm and started to pull him away.

"The fuck, Al! Not going anywhere."

"Matt, you're going to drive yourself nuts if you stay here. I know you. We're only going a little ways away. I promise."

Matthew turned to yell again at his brother, but the expression of anxiety on Alfred's face stopped him.

"The doctors will come and find you as soon as there's anything for you to know or do."

Matthew's shoulders slumped and he followed his brother down the corridor to an abandoned meeting room. Matthew sat heavily at a table, resting his head in his hands. Alfred sat next to him and very gently touched his back.

"This feels like it just won't end. Like it'll never be over. God, God…"

His voice cracked and he struggled not to cry. Alfred rubbed gentle circles on his brother's back.

"He's going to be okay, Matt. He's still a nation. He'll be fine."

"But what if he isn't? What do I do then?"

Alfred couldn't answer, only pulled his twin into a one armed hug. Matthew lost the battle against his tears and started crying softly, wrapping his own arms around Alfred. It took several minutes before the Canadian could speak again, the recently shed tears making his accent thicker.

"Sorey aboot tha'."

"It's nothing, Matt. I'm just not sure what to tell you."

Matthew chuckled a little, sitting upright to meet his twin's utterly confused eyes.

"You're usually so sure of how to fix everyone else's problems, especially mine. It's strange to see you not trying to fulfill your need to be the hero."

Matthew's quiet laughter made Alfred blush hard and turn away. Matthew pressed one hand to his mouth to calm his mirth so he could try and sooth his brother.

"Hey, now. Did I say something?"

Alfred shrugged his shoulders, standing up to pace around. Matthew frowned, watching the American for a moment before speaking again.

"Alfred, really, what's wrong? You only get this quiet when you're angry or scared."

Alfred made a frustrated noise, turning to face his twin and jam his hands into his hair to pull, hard.

"Am I really that predictable?"

"Yes. Alfred, talk to me."

Alfred shook his head and flopped back into his seat. Matthew stayed quiet, waiting.

"Arthur asked me the same question when he called earlier."

"What did you tell him?"

Alfred laughed humorlessly, leaning back against the table to stare at the ceiling.

"I told him I didn't want to talk about it until I got home. I know you're a big fan of sharing and caring, Matt, but I'm more in a mood to pound something into the ground."

"Sharing has its place, and you know I always care, but pounding out aggression can be pretty good, too. Want to share what's got you feeling like that?"

The American glared at his brother's slightly sarcastic remark.

"Sorey."

Alfred just looked away, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing out his cheeks like he had since he was a child to end conversations he didn't want to have. Matthew just waited patiently, knowing very well that he had said everything he could to try and get his brother talking.

"Have you ever really thought about what would happen if someone you love dies?"

The soft question startled Matthew, and he answered just as softly.

"Yes. Haven't you?"

Alfred shook his head, unable to look at his twin while taking a deep but shaky breath.

"I can't stop thinking about what I would have done if Russia had taken someone I love, taken you or Arthur. I'm a superpower. I'm always aware of this cursed strength I have. Would you have been able to stop me if I wanted to destroy Russia? Or would I have started another war because Ivan is insane?"

Matthew looked down at his shoes, trying to find a way to soothe his obviously distressed twin.

"I had the same worry. You know I'm physically as strong as you are, and my political ties to the Commonwealth make war as dangerous a prospect for me as it is for you. What if I had killed Ivan? He would have resurrected and may have retaliated. Could I have kept my country out of it, or would I have started World War Three?"

"I don't know."

It was all Alfred could say. He knew it was a useless thing to say and he wished he could actually make his brother feel better. They were silent for what felt like a long time, but what could have only been a few minutes, until a corpsman poked his head around the door.

"Oh, good, I found you. The patient is doing much better, but he's asleep again."

Matthew had almost leapt to his feet when the corpsman had spoken and started asking questions.

"He's fine. He is allergic to Demerol and went into anaphylactic shock. Epinephrine restored his breathing and all he needs now is some rest. You can see him now, if you'd like."

The words were barely out of the sailor's mouth before Matthew had stepped around him to return to Gilbert's side. The Prussian was indeed asleep, but his breathing was steady and deep. Matthew reclaimed his chair next to his lover and began counting the movements of his chest again. Alfred had quietly followed his twin and took a chair near the wall, leaving them in a strained silence. The American coughed a bit before speaking.

"Do you want to take him back to Canada, or to the hospital in Berlin that specializes in nations?"

"Berlin. It's still his heart, and the doctor's there are less likely to fuck up again. It's probably the best place for him."

Alfred nodded and pulled out his cell phone to begin making the necessary preparations.

* * *

The lights were in different places than where Gilbert remembered them being, and the bed was much softer with a less scratchy blanket. Not that he minded spartan accommodations in a hospital, but the good stuff was nice. He mentally shook his head to orient himself and cautiously opened his eyes. The ceiling looked like a building, and a nice one, rather than something on an aircraft carrier. And the room was still, not swaying back and forth. He tried to sit up, but a weight on his arm stopped him.

Matthew had fallen asleep with his torso resting over Gilbert's left arm, glasses clutched in one hand. A smile played over Gilbert's thin lips, but turned into a bit of an evil grin. After a quick glance around to make sure the room was indeed empty, Gil took the Canadian's curl between the fingers of his right hand and gave it a long, stroking tug. Matthew whimpered and Gilbert would have tugged on the curl again if the nurse hadn't knocked on the door. The sound jolted Matthew awake and upright, polite greetings flowing out of his mouth almost immediately. It made Gilbert chuckle at this display of Canadian stereotypes, which, of course, caused both other men in the room to snap their attention to him. The nurse started doing the medical things he had been trained to do, while Matthew just stared.

"Hey, Birdie. Do I have something in my teeth?"

That drew a short laugh from Matthew, who leaned back down and rested his forehead on Gilbert's shoulder. He continued to laugh while Gilbert reached up and gently patted his head. The nurse made some noises about getting the doctor and wrote some things on the chart at the end of Gilbert's bed before he left the room. All of it was ignored by the two nations.

Gilbert tried to nudge Matthew to sit up right, but a change in the laughter made him stop. It had changed to quiet crying. He changed tactics and tugged at Matthew's hoodie until he had his boyfriend pressed along the length of his body on the hospital bed. The tears were coming faster now and Gilbert just held Matthew, humming old hymns and carols.

Once the tears had stopped, Gilbert gave Matthew a squeeze before tugging his face up by the chin.

"What's up, Birdie?"

Matthew laughed again, holding Gilbert tightly, but didn't look away.

"I almost lost you twice in as many days. That's what's up."

"But I'm right here, safe and sound. Anyway, you already had your tears. Don't waste any more on what didn't happen."

Bloodshot eyes widened and Gilbert tried not to laugh as he soothed his Canadian.

"Sorry, Mattie, sorry. But, really, I've survived much worse."

Matt burrowed into Gilbert's side before he answered quietly.

"Not in the last twenty seven years."

Gilbert only hummed his agreement and stroked Matthew's hair idly, waiting. When no more words were forthcoming from his boyfriend, Gilbert spoke instead.

"Really, Matt. Why were you crying? You're not usually the overly emotional, touching-reunion-tears type. You're more likely to yell at me for being an idiot."

The tension rose in Matthew's body until he took some deep breaths and forced himself to answer honestly.

"I was scared. I _am_ scared."

"Of what? I'm right here, alive and well, and you showed Ivan not to mess with you and yours, so what's there to be scared of?"

Matt didn't answer so Gil could only sigh and tried to get Matt to meet his eyes again. Matthew pressed himself further into Gilbert's body, resisting the gentle tugging until the Prussian began grumbling. He took a deep breath and let the words tumble from his mouth in a jumbled rush.

"What if Ivan isn't sane? Russia could retaliate for the beating I gave him, and, and..."

The shaking had started again along with tears, so Gilbert focused on calming Matthew down so he could listen while he tried to figure out just what to say.

"Easy, _schatz_, you're talking about two different things. Russia won't retaliate because you gave Ivan his comeuppance. I promise, it won't happen."

"How do you know that? And why are you talking as if Russia and Ivan are two separate people?"

Gilbert was still for a moment, then laughed a little.

"I keep forgetting just how young you are. Russia and Ivan aren't two separate people, but they are different in what they can do. The nation of Russia can't attack the nation of Canada just because you beat the snot out of Ivan. If it worked like that, we would have annihilated each other eons ago. Really, I would have thought Francis and Arthur would have made that clear."

Matthew finally lifted his head and met Gilbert's eyes. He pursed his lips, thoughtful.

"Don't believe me, Birdie? Well, has Canada ever gone to war with America, even after some of the fights you and your twin have had? And there have been some epic ones over the years."

Violet eyes searched ruby red ones for a few moments before Matthew sighed, deflated, and pressed his face into Gilbert's neck again.

"Even so, will you be a little more careful for a while? Even if Russia isn't a threat, Ivan certainly is."

Gilbert nodded, kissing Matthew's hair and just holding his partner for a while. When he spoke up again, it was softly into Matthew's ear.

"If I'm a little more careful, will you finally let me eat pancakes off your-"

Matthew's hand snapped up and covered Gilbert's mouth so quickly the Prussian could only howl with laughter. Sitting upright so he was above Gilbert, Matthew glared down at the cackling man.

"**_Gilbert Beilschmidt_**! Don't you _dare_ bring that up in public! When we get home I'm going to..."

The rant continued, but Gilbert didn't hear any of it. He just laughed and listened to the voice of the man he loved. Sudden inspiration had him reaching up and pulling Matthew down on top of him so they could kiss.

"God, I love you, Birdie."

Matthew flushed, propping himself up to glare at Gilbert.

"And I love you, too. But don't think that'll get you out of trouble."

The only answer was more laughter and arms wrapping around both men.

* * *

Author's Note:

Sappy ending is sappy. And was written much later than the rest of it. I had something different written, involving Ludwig and Feliciano, but it wasn't working, so I scrapped it and came up with... this. So sorry about any inconsistencies is style or tone. I did my best.

Quick note: Arthur's nickname for Alfred is Meri: A-Meri-ca. I can't remember where I read it, but someone else had used that nickname and I loved it so much I had to make it my own headcanon. So, thank you, unnamed fanfic author.

Reviews make the author very, very happy. (Except flames. No flames. Play nice.)


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